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My Neighbor

 I think we are all, to varying degrees, cracking under the pressures of adult life. And I think one sign of a substantial "crack" can be: the state of the dog.


On my back road, we have Buster, who could use some care. Buster himself is delightful, but Buster's owners seem overwhelmed. Their fence is crumbling, and they haven't found time to address the problem; instead, they have erected a kind of symbolic faux-fence, which makes me think of the barricade from "Les Miserables." There is actually a child's plastic "steering wheel" in this fence. And a rotting wooden plank. And a few fallen branches, some bright-rainbow bits from a rake, some wires.


Because this fence does nothing, nothing at all, Buster just steps over the steering wheel and finds himself in our own yard. Or in any number of yards.


No one here wants to be confused with the family that owns Buster. In fact, at a cocktail party, you might hear someone murmur, "We live on the road--and we have a white-yellow dog....not Buster."


You might sometimes see a crazed woman wandering the back road, asking: "Where is my dog?" If you explain that Buster has migrated to another lawn, the woman will say, "The kids left our gate open." And this is uncomfortable for everyone because: (1) clearly, a closed gate wouldn't address the "Les Miserables" situation and (2) maybe the children are being asked to take care of something they're not old enough to be responsible for.


I think the only reply, in this case, is a gentle, evasive, white lie. You can say: "Kids these days!" Or: "When will they learn????"


And we all lurch along, doing our best. Some days are easier than others.

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